act25side

This isn't exactly the best place for chit-chat.

Head over here, and wait for me.

Where are we...?

Don't worry. It's my District 13 residence.

What about you?

I have company. An old friend has some business with me.

I don't think I've ever heard you breathing. When you smoke, are you just letting it swirl around your stomach?

It's a habit. Just like what you used to do after finishing a mission. You'd record the event on a note before burning it on the spot.

That young researcher back there... You always have a soft spot for the youth.

Eh, can't exactly ignore it, can I?

An employee of my own company shows up in a military lockdown, it'll be bad for business if she gets caught.

I see you're just as attentive to detail as ever, regardless of what field you're in.

You've caught my eye a number of times over the years. From the intermediary investor for all of Trimounts to the head of Rhine HR, you've contributed pretty much your entire network to this tech company.

In other words, without you, we wouldn't have the Kristen we know today.

So, is you being here right now also the fault of that reckless girl?

Or, do you have ideas of your own?

Have you considered the possibility that I'm here because I bought a residence in District 13, and that I spend a few days here when I'm not too busy?

I'm getting old, Tin Man.

Age notwithstanding, when I came back to my senses, I realized that my health, my dreams, my friends, and my family... had all been given to my country.

In the end, nothing remained of Maylander's 'Morningstar.'

I don't even have any tapes of the movies I made when I was young by which to remember my so-called 'youth.'

I wasn't trying to point the finger at you, Jara.

But if you're hoping that I turn a blind eye to this, I'm afraid I can't help you... Maylander's only responsibility is to the country.

I just wanted to tell you I have no regrets. So even now, I won't do anything that would truly harm Columbia.

Are you still mourning the death of the Wrights?

As much as I'd like to deny it, the scene still haunts my dreams even now.

Delivery. Come sign for it.

Put it on the workstation.

Ho'olheyak scans the space in front of her, a massive, hollow underground ring-shaped structure. In other words, a 'well.'

Originium lamps fastened to the well's walls provided only a basic lighting, making it difficult to determine the overall depth. Inlaid within the grooves running along the walls are cables extending into the darkness.

The person with who she was speaking earlier is now pacing back and forth, leaving her with but a busy silhouette.

She seems to be busy testing something. Even in such a deep area, her actions do not seem to cause much of an echo. Presumably, the surface structure incorporates some high-performance sound-absorbing material.

The entire area seems to be as still and silent as lingering mist.

Are you not afraid of the dark? Do you not get bored? We're several hundred meters underground... and those boorish soldiers are patrolling just above us.

You've been here a number of months, right? Haven't gone up for a walk?

Nasti?

I'm busy, K'uk'ulkan.

I don't have much free time on my hands, either.

What I'm saying is, put the black box down, and get lost.

I'm taking a risk here to get this to you under the watchful eyes of the military and Maylander. That's a bit cold of you, wouldn't you agree?

This is a deal between you and Control. It's got nothing to do with me.

You didn't do anything with the black box after you got your hands on it, did you?

No.

Damn, ice cold.

The data calculations are... Well, not that complicated.

Nasti dives back into her own work, and the screen is once again engulfed with a large amount of data, like a tide flooding across land.

She focuses up more, leaving Ho'olheyak alone to do little else than stare at her back. That is when she notices the devices around her waist–

They appear as a lattice of dead branches, spliced together irregularly. But as Nasti intermittently works at her station, they sway back and forth in a short, regular rhythm.

As if sentient, they seem to be following Nasti's thoughts.

Looks like you managed to find nourishment for the rootless branches... Hmph.

The trajectory data has deviated slightly from the previous calculation, but is still within the expected range. It appears that Transmitter can indeed be used as an alternative navigation resource.

That being the case, we need to speed things up.

By the way, how did Kristen get you, the head of Engineering, to willingly coop yourself up underground to do the hard work for her?

Nasti doesn't answer. She enters a few commands, and as the screens in front of her go dark one by one, she turns and heads towards the door. Behind her, the underground space becomes dimmer and dimmer.

Ready to touch some grass, Nasti? Did something good happen? Surely you're not going to keep the good news from me?

(In Sarkaz) Begone.

Ho'olheyak takes a step back upon hearing that one word. Her body instinctively carries out the order, as if executing a 'command.'

Cute curse you have there, Banshee.

Did any of the staff ever tell you you've got a bad temper?

The icy-cold air caresses Nasti's neck before dissipating like an illusion. The young banshee shivers slightly.

A crack forms across the bone pen in her hand.

Oh my, they don't quite make them like they used to, do they? I know you have an entire drawer filled with spares.

But, I've always been curious... if you broke all of your bone pens, would you still be able to perform your little tricks?

Go ahead and try me.

I won't give the same command twice, K'uk'ulkan.

Fine, fine. Are all Banshees as much of a stick in the mud as you?

Don't pass up on this rare opportunity to get some fresh air. If you're afraid of the dark, I don't mind keeping you company partway.

Before the banshee can speak again, Ho'olheyak nimbly disappears behind the door.

The darkness lingering within the air trembles violently for a spell, then Nasti finally lets go of her words.

...Ugh.

I should go pick her up.

(In Sarkaz) At last, the muddled dream is about to settle.

These stars have twinkled above Terra since ancient times.

Just how many romantic myths and searching gazes do they hold?

Astrologers spend their lives assigning symbols to constellations and celestial bodies to give them meaning, while shamans and druids try to interpret the trails left by every passing meteor.

They are untouchable. Indeed, it is precisely because of this that the sky has become the true home of those who indulge in fantasy.

And for this great land, looking up holds no meaning.

6152.31 Meters. The height of Terra's sky.

And also, the last record of the Wrights' final flight.

No one has questioned this limit.

Nobody is angry, confused, or curious about it.

People live on this pea wrapped so softly in a its pod, and couldn't care any less.

And thus, came the shabby poem from an Ursine poet centuries ago.

'Starpod'.

Hmph. A romantic name for the barrier.

I've read through every paper related to the subject of barriers, those sloppy theories formulated by Victorian and Leithanian scholars...

'Analysis on Pressure in Space,' 'Theory on Density Differentials between the Barrier and Outside Matter' ...Old, outdated, and full of holes.

Those Columbian academics announcing their 'pioneer's spirit' merely tinker with that garbage. Then you get the occasional novel theory put out by younger scholars in academic journals.

But they spend way more energy getting tenure and research grants than looking at the sky.

Oh, by the way. The test platform we launched the other day has already fallen back to the ground, due to the same old problems with the barrier.

The sudden change in basic aerodynamics, massive disruption to the Originium Zone, and the extremely rapid decay of any exogenous power.

What about the results of the data analysis from the Transmitter?

The batch from the re-adjusted ones are solid.

I've also already laid out all the energy cables, and connected them to the port you mentioned previously.

But, Kristen. You're well aware of just how much energy you'll need for this.

The theory is sound, however...

That won't be a problem.

Alright.

The test platform's crash landing has caused us some trouble, and the military is burning with anxiety over your disappearance.

Kristen, whatever their next step may be, death might be the most merciful outcome.